The bookshop occupies three floors and a vast range of subjects. D is looking for maps and finds plenty but not the one he is looking for. Next to the maps are the travel guides. LP's Great Britain for Indian Travellers catches the eye. Leafing through we discover some recommended authentic Indian restaurants in Edinburgh that we have never heard of. It also contains the rather frightening information that an Indian Driving Licence is valid for 12 months in the UK. R finds a couple of yoga books and a small paperback that seems to suggest that she could learn Hindi in 4 weeks. If she starts today she will be able to practice when shopping in Delhi before we go home.
Today there is no cloud and it is going to be much hotter than yesterday. Keeping to the shady side of the street we walk back into town and spot yesterday's Modern Cafe just as we feel the need for a cuppa. This place must have been modern once upon a time. The tea is good though and sets us up for our assault on the State Emporium. We have been warned that there is only one genuine Karnataka State shop and dozens of imposters. We know straight away that we are in the right place as none of the staff even acknowledge our presence. These are civil sevants rather than thrusting entrepreneurs. We love it.
They have some fabulous furniture and carved elephants by the score. Some pieces of marquetry are very tempting but we would have to carry them for the next five weeks. R contents herself with a silk scarf and a couple of pairs of earings. As a state enterprise the full traditional retail system is used here. A sales person relieves you of your intended purchase and laboriously completes a form in a book, ensuring that two copies are made using carbon paper inserts. He issues you with the two copies for each purchase. When you have finished shopping you take these flimsy documents to the cashier's desk. He relieves you of one copy plus oodles of bunce and returns the other copy to you having stamped it as paid. At the next counter you hand these copies over in exchange for your goods and the original top copy which is your receipt. Retail in the UK isn't half the fun it used to be.
We head in a generally easterly direction along a street of clothing shops. R is in the market for a full length house dress. She has such a garment in blue (see pictures from the beach house) but it is showing signs of wear and suffered a small but visible burn on the hem due to contact with a burning mosquito coil. There is a demanding specification to be met. It must be cotton, well made and above all, not look 'mumsy'. Manufacturers of such garments seem to think that mumsy is the very dab so the search is not easy. Most are rejected on all three grounds but one hanging outside a small shop catches the eye. After several minutes of unwrapping, displaying and discarding a suitable one is found. No haggling here. 'Fixed price' he says sternly, pointing to a sign. Business done he relaxes and asks if we have been to Rajasthan. He is from Jodhpur so we are able to tell him that we are fans of his home town and have been there twice.
We move on into an area populated by hardware merchants, vendors of cooking pots and energetic metal bashers. Out of idle curiosity D asks the price of one of the copper pots about 2 feet in diameter and around eighteen inches deep. 3000 rupees. If we want one there is probably room to haggle. R tries a couple of tawas out for weight and quickly puts them down again. We watch a man hand making what appear to be stove tops on the pavement.
All good things come to an end. We run out of shade and metalbashers and are accosted by a man who claims not to be a tout but who does want to advise us on where to shop. We shake him off and adjourn to the nearby Park Lane for a well earned refreshment. When we emerge it is roasting. We find an internet cafe with a fan and spend half an hour putting out blog pictures in the right places. This cannot be done on the tablet which is a bit of a bind. The auto ride back to the hotel is the shortest we have had in Mysore but he has quoted the highest price yet. When D asks if he is from Chennai he laughs.
After a rest and a shower we decide where to go for dinner. P recommended the Tiger Trail restaurant at one of the posh hotels so we opt for that. After a beer in the bar we are seated at a table in a large open air courtyard. The place is filling up, mainly with pink people who look as if they qualify for Senior discount on Indian Railways. Mysore does seem to have a lot of mature Western tourists - the Park Lane last night had few Indian customers. There was a piece on the front page of today's Times of India about a group of sixteen British ladies, aged 50 -70, who are in Mysore for a knitting holiday. That might explain some of it.
The menu is huge but we pin our choice down to Pudina Gosht, a lamb dish with fresh mint and Subz Dum Biryani which is a famous rice and vegetable dish cooked in a clay pot which has the lid sealed on with a ring of pastry to keep all of the cooking liquid in. They are both excellent as are the thin crispy rotis. So far so good as far as the food goes.
As we leave the smartly uniformed gateman offers to summon an auto. He does this with fierce blasts on a referee's whistle. An auto appears and D asks for a price to our hotel. The man whispers a ludicrous amount for fear of being overheard by the gateman. D protests and the price drops. He tells us this is night charge. We have probably been ripped off but we will live with it.
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